How to Paint Our Skies

How to Combust

Dear Fin,

    Sometimes I think about how we fell in love and how crazy it was. And then I think about how crazy the mere idea of falling in love is. And how terrifying. Because the metaphor, words so commonly spoken that to most they have lost their true meaning, is correct; you literally offer another person your heart, passing it to them, and watch it drop through the air . . . you can only hope they catch it, that they catch you when you fall. For me, with you, I watched myself shatter on the cold, hard ground. I had to pick myself up again. I'm not quite yet finished.

    And sometimes . . . I think about the euphoria that is love.  About how it feels like to have someone press their lips to yours and press words to your mouth in a language only you two understand. About how it feels to fall asleep, strong arms securely around you, listening to a melody of a heart beat that it yours. About how it feels like to look into someone's eyes and you know where your home is. That is love.

     And when I wonder about these things, sometimes, I always think about how I lost you and how devastating that fact it. Because I love you. Because you're my Fin. Because you were everything I had been praying for my whole life. And then you're gone. I . . . it's hard for me to remember. Or feel. Or anything, for that matter.

    Sometimes, I think too much.

    Encounter Number Twenty-Two:

    "She's an idiot," you told me, as you lazily stepped back into your room, you retook your spot next to me on the bench. "Actually, she's mentally handicapped."

    I slapped your arm. "Tha-at's not a go-good th-thing to sa-say."

    You sighed. "Dove, Etta broke three plates –three plates- because she was trying to balance them on her nose. Her reasoning? Seals can do it."

      "Well, th-they ca-can," I reasoned.

     You placed your face in your palm. "Not you, too."

     I patted your arm, right where I had slapped it. "Re-relax"

   For awhile, in your room we had sat there, leaning against each other as if we given one another the power to live. You made me feel stronger. And after awhile, you returned to your piano, and played me a pretty little tune. We sat there for another while, sitting in your music, letting it linger around us and stir our souls.

    Unfortunately, after a while, you had disappeared due to that cursed noise. And, whola, you had returned.

    I sighed. "I sho-should be get-get-ting home so-soon."

    You frowned. "Do you have to go so early?"

    "My da-dad will wor-worry."

    You drew your arm around me. "Alright, I'll release you from this cage, my dove. Let me take you home."

    We decided to walk, since it was still fairly warm in our little home town, ignoring the dark clouds that lurked in the horizon. You kept your arm securely around my shoulder, our steps falling into a rhythm as you told me stories about Etta. I could see the adoration in your eyes as you spoke about her.

     "-Not exactly her brightest moment, you know? I mean, I have no clue why anyone would think it's a good idea to try to 'clean your eyebrows with a toothbrush.' But it was Etta, so she was probably like, 'sounds good to me.' And-"

    I would never get to know what that and ended with because it started to rain, unexpectedly. Of course, it wasn't just a little drizzle. It was pounding against our skin, as if begging to seep into our pores. You cursed but I couldn't help but laugh as the cool liquid hit my face, allowing you to shelter me with your arms.